


Reasons Why Peter Maldonado and Sam Ecklund Are Not Gay For Each Other: An Investigative Report

by ionthesparrow



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 15:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionthesparrow/pseuds/ionthesparrow
Summary: Directed and edited by Peter MaldonadoScreenplay and additional editing by Sam Ecklund





	Reasons Why Peter Maldonado and Sam Ecklund Are Not Gay For Each Other: An Investigative Report

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstlovelatespring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlovelatespring/gifts).



> Thank you to the Yuletide organizers for all their hard work. Thank you to B for reading this over for me. And to my recipient, thank you for your awesome letter. I hope you enjoy this, I really enjoyed writing it for you. Happy Yuletide!

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay 

 

 

``

> `  
>  INT. THE HOME OF DYLAN MAXWELL - KITCHEN – DAY  
>  A well composed interview setup. Dylan looks right into the camera.`
> 
>  
> 
> Peter says, “Please state your name and who you are.” 
> 
> Dylan looks at him. Looks at the camera. Looks back at Peter. “My name is Dylan Maxwell.” His eyes narrow and his words stutter to halt. “And I’m – I’m just Dylan. What do you mean, who am I? That’s a stupid question.” 
> 
> From off-camera, Peter’s voice says, “What I meant was – ” 
> 
> Dylan glares at the camera. “I thought you were going to be serious about this. This is my fucking life we’re talking about – ” 
> 
> “I _am_ being serious.” Peter sounds more defensive than he would like. It makes his voice go all squeaky. He reminds himself to take a breath. “Dylan.” 
> 
> “If you were serious, you wouldn’t be asking who I am – you know who I am. What we don’t know is who drew all the fucking dicks.” With the air of someone who’s said their last word on the subject, Dylan slouches back into the kitchen chair and crosses his arms over his chest. 
> 
> Peter watches the lav mic pinned to Dylan’s t-shirt twist; he winces. He has to stop himself from swatting at Dylan’s arms or yelling about fragile equipment. “Maybe let’s just – take a break.” Peter switches the camera off. 
> 
> Dylan is not consoled. He rolls his eyes. “Are we gonna be here all day? I told you I have to work this afternoon.” 
> 
> “No, but I’m trying to, like – these questions are supposed to set things up, you know?” Peter stumbles, but recovers. “Like, you know what this film is supposed to be about and I know what this film is supposed to be about, but the audience – ” 
> 
> “Bro, I don’t know how to break this to you, but I think being concerned about the audience at this point is kinda ambitious.” 
> 
> Peter presses his lips tight together. Kubrick probably had a hard time getting people to take him seriously at first, too. 
> 
> “Everybody at school already knows who I am.” Dylan continues, leaning forward. He plants his elbows on the kitchen table and pauses. There’s a dangerous glint in his eye that Peter has already come to dread. “What people don’t know – is who the fuck are you?” 
> 
> “Dylan, this documentary’s not about me.” 
> 
> “You’re making it, though. Yeah.” Dylan grins, settling into this line of argument. “So people need to know if they can trust you. Like, are you a straight shooter, or are you some kind of lil bitch, that’s just gonna, like, be fake about it. Like, _The Blair Witch Project._ Did you know that was fake? Or, _The Office_ , or like, the moon landing.” 
> 
> Peter bites his lip. “I don’t think – ” 
> 
> Dylan cuts him off. “You already lied about having done this before.” 
> 
> “I didn’t _lie.”_ Peter is rapidly losing control of this interview. He needs to stop engaging. He needs to get this back on track. “I said I’d made other films. And I have.” 
> 
> Dylan doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah, but how many of those were about dicks?” 
> 
> “That’s not the point.” 
> 
> “How many?” 
> 
> Peter breathes in. Breathes out. Breathes – 
> 
> “Well? How many?” 
> 
> “None of my previous films were about dicks.” 
> 
> “See?” Dylan is on a roll now and he knows it. “So what else are you lying about? Lying about being a sophomore?” 
> 
> “I’m definitely a sophomore, Dylan.” 
> 
> “Maybe you’re even be lying about going to Hanover High.” He points a finger, wags it under Peter’s nose. “What if you’re a spy?” 
> 
> “You’re being ridiculous. Can we please try to focus?” 
> 
> “Plus, you’ve been lying about how you and that skinny kid are gay for each other.” 
> 
> “I think we’re losing track of – wait, what?” 
> 
> The corner of Dylan’s mouth curls. He looks like a cat who’s finally pinned a mouse. “You heard me.” 
> 
> “What skinny kid?” 
> 
> “The pale kid. You know – skinny. Pale.” Dylan’s head cocks in thought. “Now that I think about it, that’s weird for southern California. How’s anybody in SoCal stay that pale?” He shakes his head. “I’d lie about it too, if I were into him.” 
> 
> “Are you – are you talking about Sam?” 
> 
> Dylan snaps his fingers in recognition. “That’s it. That guy.” 
> 
> “We’ve been on the Morning Show crew with you for _two years_.” It’s getting harder and harder to not sound exasperated. 
> 
> “So?” 
> 
> “So, you couldn’t remember his name after two years?” 
> 
> “Okay, I forgot his name. Sue me.” Dylan holds his hands out, all at once the picture of boyish innocence. 
> 
> “Fine. Whatever.” If Peter can get them back on track, they could still finish this interview segment today. “But Sam and I aren’t gay for each other.” 
> 
> “Sure,” Dylan says. 
> 
> “We aren’t.” 
> 
> “I’m agreeing with you. I said sure.” 
> 
> Peter watches his face. Dylan’s expression is deadpan serious. Maybe he’s ready to let it drop. Peter continues, “Now. Where were we? I want to introduce – ” 
> 
> “How do you know?” 
> 
> “How do I know what?” 
> 
> Dylan raises his eyebrows and gives Peter an intent look. 
> 
> Peter takes the bait. “Okay. Fine. I know we’re not gay for each other because for one thing, I’m not gay.” 
> 
> Dylan hums but doesn’t answer. 
> 
> This interview is never happening. “I’m not having this argument with you.” 
> 
> “I’m just saying.” Dylan spreads his hands in a gesture of self-defense, as though Peter were the one lobbing accusations. 
> 
> “I’m not.” 
> 
> Dylan hums again. 
> 
> “I already said I’m not having this argument.” 
> 
> “You’re the one arguing. I’m just sitting here.” 
> 
> Peter takes a breath. “Let’s refocus. This interview is supposed to introduce you and introduce the crime, so I – ” 
> 
> “Gay.” 
> 
> Peter stops. “I’m not.” 
> 
> Dylan’s still trying for deadpan, but Peter can see him working to keep a grin off his face. “I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying the word. You don’t have a problem with the word, do you?” 
> 
> Peter’s head hurts. “No. I just want to get back to – ” 
> 
> “Gay.” 
> 
> “Dylan.” 
> 
> “Gay.” 

 

 

How do you know who you are? 

How do any of us? When a crime is committed, there’s a pretty simple justification for investigating other people: people lie. People keep secrets or twist the truth or leave things out, and since you can’t know what other people are thinking, you have to investigate, and look for clues or proof of what really happened. But how do you investigate yourself? And before we get to the how part: _why_ would you have to investigate yourself, when presumably, you’d automatically know if you were lying; when, in theory, you already know everything there is to know? 

Well, as much as I hate the idea that Dylan might have a point, here’s the thing about self-knowledge: it’s never as complete as you want it to be. And when you’re investigating something like a crime that’s happened, the things you don’t know about yourself can get in the way. Like, for example, I knew when we started this documentary that the fact that I knew Dylan from school and from the Morning Show was going to make this whole project harder. Like, I know Dylan’s kind of an asshole, so anytime I think about him drawing the dicks, I also think: yeah – that is totally the kind of thing Dylan Maxwell would do. 

But then there’s the stuff about me that I don’t know – like, what if I have a deep-seated subconscious hatred of graffiti? Or Mercedes cars? Or the color red? All those biases would affect how I put this documentary together, and if I wasn’t aware of biases that I had, I’d be making creative and editorial decisions that would affect the final product without understanding why. So, even though Dylan’s wrong – I’m not gay – and even though he goes about everything in the most irritating way possible – I don’t particularly like being heckled when I’m trying to fucking help him – he is right about one thing. 

The whole point of this documentary is trying to find the truth so that we have the right grounds to judge other people. And if I’m going to investigate other people and judge them, while I’m doing that, I’m going to have to run kind of a side project investigating myself. And I have to be open and honest about whatever I find out, because I can ask whatever questions I want: how do we know or not know Dylan did the dicks? What kind of person spray paints twenty-seven dicks on twenty-seven cars? 

But here’s a question that’s just as good: how are those questions, and whatever answers we get, affected by who’s doing the asking? 

 

 

``

> `  
>  INT. THE HOME OF MACKENZIE WAGNER – MACKENZIE’S BEDROOM – EVENING  
>  Dylan lounges on the floor of a messy room. Mackenzie is lying on her stomach on her bed. Peter is off-camera.`
> 
>  
> 
> Dylan’s still fucking with the dog, which is good in the sense that Mr. Ruff is no longer trying to chew on the school’s tripod. Less great is the occasional yelping, and Peter’s kind of dreading listening to the audio playback later, but beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to truth-seeking on the cheap. The conversation has lapsed, and Peter is thinking about turning the camera off, weighing the pros and cons of battery life versus the possibility of something interesting happening, when Dylan says, “So.” He draws the word out suggestively, “Have you thought about it?” 
> 
> For a moment, there’s silence. Peter waits for Mackenzie to answer. The dog snuffles. Dylan holds a toy just in front of his nose, waiting to yank it away. 
> 
> Without looking up from her phone, Mackenzie says, “He’s talking to you.” 
> 
> “Me?” Peter shifts, and for a second, the boom mic drops into the shot. He looks at Dylan, but Dylan doesn’t look up. 
> 
> Instead, Dylan waves the dog toy. Mr. Ruff lunges, just a second too slow. “Yeah, I’m asking if you’ve thought about it.” 
> 
> Peter is drawing a blank. “Thought about what?” 
> 
> “Whether you’re gay.” 
> 
> This again. “I already told you. I’m not gay.” 
> 
> Mackenzie smiles down at her phone. It’s hard to tell if she’s paying attention or not. 
> 
> Dylan lures and yanks the toy away again. The dog’s nails scrabble against the floor. “You don’t know if you haven’t thought about it.” 
> 
> “You want me to think about it?” Maybe they can get this over with once and for all, and he can get Dylan to talk about where he actually was on March 15th. “Fine.” 
> 
> “Are you thinking about it?” 
> 
> “Yes.” 
> 
> Dylan holds out the toy and this time he lets Ruff latch on. “Ha. If you’re thinking about it, you’re totally gay.” 
> 
> Mackenzie laughs, face dropping to hide in the crook of her arm. 
> 
> Peter glances at her, then back to Dylan. “Whatever. What about you? You’re the one who draws dicks all the time.” 
> 
> “Oooh.” Mackenzie lifts her head to peer down at Dylan. “He does have you there.” 
> 
> Dylan frowns. “Traitor.” 
> 
> “Come on, Dylan,” Peter presses. “Have _you_ thought about it?” 
> 
> “I’ll think about it right now – but only because you asked me to.” Dylan squints into the middle distance, the picture of comedic determined focused. 
> 
> The silence stretches. 
> 
> Dylan exhales loudly, all at once. Mr. Ruff jumps. “Yeah. No. Dicks are just funny. They’re not, like, hot. They’re funny.” He rolls into a seated position and looks with concern at Peter. “Although, now that I think about it – maybe that’s how it happens. Like, a guy looks at a dick and smiles – because it’s funny, so then he’s associating dicks with happiness, and then boom: gay.” 
> 
> For like the seventy-fifth time that day, Peter questions what he’s doing here. “I’m pretty sure gay people are born that way.” 
> 
> “The fact that you’re quoting Lady Gaga and still claiming not to be gay is just wild to me,” Dylan says. 
> 
> “That wasn’t – ” 
> 
> “Besides,” Dylan continues, obviously it happens when you’re a baby. Like, as a baby you see cock and smile, and then you’re gay when you grow up. There was totally a study that proved it and everything. Like, it said if you have older brothers you’re more likely to be gay.” Dylan nods, apparently satisfied with this logic. “So like, yeah. Seeing cocks as a baby turns you gay.” 

 

 

It turns out Dylan was actually right about that. Or, half right anyway. Or, more like one tiny fraction right. Scientists in St. Catharines, Onatrio did publish a study showing that having multiple older male siblings increases the odds a man will be gay. Which I looked up even though I already know taking anything Dylan says seriously has a way of biting people in the ass. But I did it because earlier I said I was going to strive to be fair and unbiased. And part of that means being thorough, right? 

That study, for the record, didn’t say anything about sexuality being influenced by seeing dicks as a baby. Just so we’re clear. It was more about intra-uterine hormones and antibodies and stuff that I’m not even going to try to pretend I understand. 

But anyway, here I am, investigating this question along with everything else, even though I can tell you pretty definitively that Sam and I are not gay for each other, the number one reason for that being: Because I, Peter Maldonado, Am Not Gay. 

 

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay  
2\. History 

 

 

> ` INT. CAMP MINIWAKA – SENIOR GIRLS’ CABIN – DAY`  
>  `Sam and Gabi study a central support post in the cabin, on which many sets of initials are carved. Peter’s voice is audible, but he is (conveniently) off-camera (again).`
> 
>  
> 
> “These are _all_ hookups?” Peter moves into the frame. He traces a set of initials at eye level with a tentative finger, turning to look over his shoulder at Sam and Gabi. “That’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? Everybody knowing everybody’s business?” 
> 
> Gabi shrugs. “I told you. Shit goes down at Miniwaka.” She and Sam exchange a look full of silent, telepathic conveyance. Sam lights up in that particular way he does when Gabi’s attention is focused on him, a grin spreading across his face. 
> 
> Peter turns his attention back to the post. There’s a sour taste lodged in his throat that he’s not in any hurry to examine. Peter has lived in Oceanside since seventh grade, and he’s been over feeling like The New Kid for years now. Every once in awhile though, every once in a while it feels like the universe is determined to remind him how good of friends everybody was way before he got here. “How many years have you guys gone to Miniwaka, anyway?” 
> 
> Gabi thinks for a moment. “Uh, I started going when I was ten.” 
> 
> Sam adds, “And I started when I was eight. But, remember, you missed that one year – ” 
> 
> “Yeah.” Gabi turns to Peter. “This one summer, I went with my grandparents to London instead of camp. Which was, I mean, it was _London_.” Her voice underlines the city’s historical and cultural significance, or at least how cool it is to have stamps in your passport. “But, like, you know.” 
> 
> Peter isn’t entirely sure he does, but he says, “Right.” 
> 
> Sam throws his head back in silent laughter, recalling something. “That was the year that Dan and Craft Room Sarah broke up. I can’t _believe_ you weren’t here for that.” 
> 
> Gabi claps a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot about that!” She half-turns to Peter, at least making a pretense of including him in the conversation. “They _still_ weren’t talking by the time school started, and I remember I was like: oh my god? What _happened_?” 
> 
> Sam nods with the smugness of an eye witness. “It was huge. So huge.” 
> 
> “Do you remember the summer when Tara caught Jake making out with Lily – ” 
> 
> “And threw all his shit in the lake? Yes.” Sam widens his eyes and turns to Peter. “Like, even his phone. It was crazy. Top ten worst camp breakups, for sure.” 
> 
> “Right,” Peter says again. His teeth click together on the T. He doesn’t have much to contribute to a conversation about the Greatest Hits of Miniwaka: Heartbreak Hotel, and honestly, he’d be a lot happier if everyone could just focus for a second on the fact that they’re here for a _reason._ They’re not here to reminisce. They should be working. 
> 
> Gabi claps her hands together again. “Okay, but all time worst was Abbie and Zoe. Anytime your breakup requires the use of a fire extinguisher – ” 
> 
> Sam is laughing too hard to say anything by this point, his hands resting on his knees, silent tears leaking down his face. He nods enthusiastic agreement, and glances back at Peter to make sure Peter is on board with how funny this all, apparently, was. 
> 
> Peter forces a smile. 
> 
> Sam looks at him again, longer this time. He sobers just a notch. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Did we get what need for interior shots of the cabin?” 
> 
> Finally. Peter nods. “I think so.” 
> 
> “Cool.” Sam straightens. “Want to make one last pass across the dock and make sure we didn’t miss anything?” 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> `EXT. CAMP MINIWAKA – DOCK – EARLY EVENING  
>  The sun is just starting to get low, the light is filtered through thin clouds on the horizon, creating a golden haze. Sam and Peter return to the dock. They are swallowed up by the trees, hidden from the view of the rest of the world. Around them, the lake is quiet but for the rustling of reeds, the slap of water against the dock’s moorings, and tree frogs announcing their spring courting efforts.`
> 
>  
> 
> Sam walks out onto the dock. Peter, eyes on his phone, in the midst of comparing his proposed to shooting schedule against what they actually got done, trails after him. The wood groans under their weight. 
> 
> “I really like this spot,” Sam says. “Not like – not like Alex likes it as, like, a primo spot to get a hand job. I just – it’s actually really pretty here, you know?” 
> 
> With the sun going down, the day is rapidly cooling off. There’s a breeze coming off the water, and Sam shivers. He’s close enough that Peter can see goosebumps rising on Sam’s forearms. 
> 
> Sam moves a step closer still. “I like this time of day, too.” 
> 
> Peter looks up from his phone, glancing out across the water. “Yeah. This is tricky lighting, though. If we end up having to come back out here, continuity is going to be a bitch.” 
> 
> Sam frowns. But on the grand scale of Sam’s judgmental looks, this one is closer to _disappointed_ than _pissed_. “Can you just like, take one second and enjoy this?” 
> 
> Peter had already turned his attention back to his notes app, carefully ticking off _Miniwaka exts_ , _entrance sign establishing,_ and _kayak rack b-roll._ “Sorry if I don’t have a decade’s worth of nostalgia about this mosquito-fest.” 
> 
> “Peter.” 
> 
> “What?” 
> 
> When there’s no immediate answer, Peter looks up. 
> 
> Sam’s arms are crossed over his chest. “I know camp isn’t your thing, and, maybe you feel excluded when Gabi and I talk about it or whatever. But I’m trying to, like, share it with you. I’m trying to explain what I like about it. What this place makes me feel. Maybe you think it’s dumb but – ” He trails off, looking frustrated. “I don’t know. Never mind.” 
> 
> Peter stares at him. Sam doesn’t say anything more, and Peter is pretty sure this is the part where he’s supposed to say – something. He clears his throat. “Hey, speaking of the, like, atmosphere and stuff, you have the light meter, right?” 
> 
> Sam’s expression immediately goes guilty. “Uh.” 
> 
> “Do not tell me you lost it.” Peter squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Sam. We already lost one. They’re expensive. Mr. Baxter is going to kill us – ” 
> 
> “Relax!” Sam holds up his hands. “I didn’t lose it. I just – don’t remember exactly where I left it.” 
> 
> Peter can feel his face getting hot. “Sam.” 
> 
> “I said relax. It can only be in like three places. It’s either in the cabin, or the car, or over by the kayaks.” He pauses, then adds, “or by the trails where we came in. Or, possibly the parking lot – ” 
> 
> Peter’s head hurts. There’s no way they’re getting back in time for Peter to edit the footage they got tonight. “If today runs late, it’s going to throw off our whole posting schedule.” 
> 
> Sam moves past him, disappearing toward the kayaks. 
> 
> “It’s so fucking key that we keep to a schedule in getting these episodes out,” Peter calls after him. “I keep telling you! Consistency is how we build an audience! If we don’t have our equipment ready, then what is even the point – ” 
> 
> “Peter.” Sam reappears. He’s holding the light meter in one hand. “I got it, okay?” 
> 
> Peter’s mouth clicks shut. “Is it okay?” 
> 
> “It’s fine, Peter. Jesus.” Sam rolls his eyes. “I got it, so now we can go back and stick to your precious schedule.” He tosses the light meter at Peter, with more force than was probably required. 
> 
> Peter drops his phone in the scramble to catch the meter, and glares after Sam, who has already began walking toward the parking lot. “You have to be more careful with the equipment.” 
> 
> Sam glances back at him over his shoulder, but doesn’t slow. “I have to be more careful? I’m not the one who forgot a boom pole in the school parking lot overnight.” 
> 
> Peter hurries to keep up. “Oh yeah? Well what about that time you almost fried a camera – ” 
> 
> Sam spins to walk backwards. “I didn’t _fry_ anything.” 
> 
> “You left it in the back of a parked car – ” 
> 
> “It was only like seventy-five degrees outside! It was fine!” 
> 
> “Well, somebody could have broken in.” 
> 
> “So now you’re changing your story? I also – ” Sam stops in front of the car, where Gabi is already waiting. He holds up a finger, “ – remember that it was _you_ who took the phrase ‘water-resistant’ to mean you could dunk – ” 
> 
> “How was I supposed to shoot a feature on water fountains without an underwater shot!” Honestly. The school should understand and support his need to do top-tier work. Peter doesn’t ask for much. “Besides – ” 
> 
> Gabi cuts in, “That’s enough. I don’t have time to hear about every single time one of you was an idiot.”

``

 

 

While Sam and I don’t go back like Sam-and-Gabi levels of back, we do go back. Which is the second reason I know we’re not gay for each other. Bear with me for a second. 

I met Sam when my mom and I moved down to Oceanside from LA. Yes, moving midway through seventh grade sucked, but it wasn’t, like, traumatic. And besides, I understood: Scripps Coastal Hospital basically made my mom an offer she couldn’t refuse. She pretty much runs everything that’s not medicine for their neonatal unit. Which is what she’s always wanted to do, and she doesn’t have to put up with as many layers of shitty bureaucracy as she did in LA, so that’s cool. 

And it’s not like being in LA was that the be-all end-all of greatness. I mean sure: if you’re interested in filmmaking, it’s pretty much _the_ place to be. But it’s also where my dad is, and so that’s, like, complicated. According to my mom, they separated because they weren’t getting along, and then the job offer in Oceanside just cemented the end. If you ask my dad, mom left him to take this job because she’s selfish and materialistic and obsessed with her career. 

I don’t have a ton to say about that, except that I think it’s pretty fucking hypocritical for a guy who works in advertising to call anybody else materialistic. 

I already knew I wanted to make films when we moved, so I thought I’d miss LA way more than I did. But now when I go up there, it’s just a bunch of weird moments. Like, my dad and I will go to a Dodgers game, and I’m like: are we just going to a Dodgers game? Or is this, like: Divorced Father And Increasingly Distant Son Attend Baseball Game As Desperate Attempt at Bonding? The last game we went to, I kept framing the shots of us in my head, and thinking about the slow zoom I’d use, and what the soundtrack of our Bonding Moment would be, and it was just – weird. 

But I think the biggest reason that I didn’t miss LA all that much was that Sam and I became friends right away. I slipped into place as his friend as if Sam had just been waiting for me to show up. Our middle school didn’t have an AV club, but we were both in the gifted program, and since Sam was already way into theater, even back then, he introduced to all the theater tech kids. I ended up running the soundboard for a couple of shows, which taught me two things. One, that equipment is so important for audio quality. So important. You have no idea. And two, that I definitely want to be a director, because being in charge of just one aspect of the production was almost worse than having no power at all. 

Look. I’m not an asshole, I just think everyone should be making their shit as close to perfect as possible. At all times. And it’s not my fault if other people can’t take constructive criticism. 

But anyway. Sam’s had my back since day one. Which means we have a history. Back when it was still Not Weird to have sleep-overs, Sam slept in my room. We’ve been camping together. When I have to spend the weekend in LA, and my dad says something particularly dickish, Sam is the one I text about it. 

And, when I was making _Inside the Mind of Killer,_ there’s this make-out scene between the detective and the first victim’s widow. (Okay – you’re probably not going to see it – so: he’s not really dead. He faked his own death, so I guess technically she isn’t really a widow, but – you know what? I don’t think it matters). But anyway, I didn’t really have any female friends who were willing to do it, so I made Sam wear a wig, and shot him from the back, and made him pretend to make out with me. 

And _also_ , when Sam was in _Bye, Bye Birdie_ last year, I was the person who helped him learn the Lindy Hop. I _still_ know how to do the Lindy Hop. Backwards. Because of Sam. 

My point is that these are the kind of moments where if two people were going to get together, like romantically, these are golden opportunities. And we’ve had plenty of them. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, given our history, if Sam and I were going to get together, wouldn’t it have already happened? 

 

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay  
2\. History  
3\. Don’t Want to Fuck Up the Existing Relationship 

 

There’s a third reason Sam and I aren’t together, which is that Boundaries Are Important. 

The kind of relationship you have with someone determines a lot about how you interact with them, and how you expect them to interact with you. How you treat a teacher is different from how you interact with a friend. And what you expect from a friend is different from what you’d expect from a significant other. When those boundaries get crossed, and the lines start to blur, everything gets really messy, really quickly. 

For example, when we were shooting our interview with Kraz, I had to cut so, _so_ much footage, all because Kraz has _no idea_ what appropriate boundaries are. 

 

 

> `INT. – HANOVER HIGH SCHOOL - MR. KRAZANSKI’S CLASSROOM – DAY  
>  Mr. Kraz is holding his guitar. Because of course he is.`
> 
>  
> 
> Kraz strums his fingers across the guitar. He squints into the vague, middle distance in a way that Peter thinks Kraz probably thinks makes him look thoughtful. In reality, Peter is unsure if Kraz remembers the question Peter just asked. 
> 
> “You know,” Kraz says, giving the camera a wildly disturbing flirtatious glance, “I did a bit of acting back in the day.” 
> 
> Peter has a whole stack of index cards, each bearing a carefully formulated interview question. They’ve been filming for an hour now. He is on card 2 of 26. “Uh.” 
> 
> “I was dating this girl. She was an actress. Well, I mean her primary gig was modeling, but she was breaking into acting at the time. Okay, actually more like an instagram model, but she had a huge following. Huge.” He pauses and reaches for his phone. “I can show you – let me just pull up – ” 
> 
> “Actually, Mr. Kraz,” Peter cuts in. “I was hoping to ask you about Ms. Shapiro – ” 
> 
> “Shapiro?” Kraz makes a face. “Listen, I probably shouldn’t be saying this to students, but high school isn’t about facts. It’s not about, like, learning Spanish or whatever.” He holds his hands up to make scare quotes around _Spanish_ , which Peter isn’t sure how to interpret. “It’s about, like, forming you as person? You know? Like, who even uses Spanish after they graduate, right? I mean, unless you end up going to one of, like, three countries where they speak Spanish, I guess. But what are the odds of that?” 
> 
> Peter blinks at him. “Actually, something like a third of all Californians speak Spanish at home.” 
> 
> Kraz shrugs this off. “I’m just saying, there’s only so much you can learn from an old lady. I mean, you’re trying to be a man, right?” 
> 
> “Um,” Peter hedges. 
> 
> “Boys need role models. They need to know what real men look like.” He taps the man cave poster behind him. 
> 
> “Uh.” 
> 
> “It’s not all grunting and protein powder, though. It might surprise you to learn I was a bit of a nerd in school.” 
> 
> Peter says, “Really?” 
> 
> His sarcasm appears to bypass Kraz. 
> 
> Kraz shakes his head like, _can you even believe it._ “Still, you grow up, you go to college – and that’s where you get the hot chicks. I mean hot like you wouldn’t believe. The kind of hot chicks you think you’re only ever gonna spank it to – ” 
> 
> “Mr. Kraz,” Peter breaks in, sounding pained. “It’s not that I don’t – it’s just we have so much ground to cover. About Dylan, you know? And the dicks?” 
> 
> “This is important, though.” Kraz leans in. “How you get there – it’s not Spanish. I mean, it’s not even history, or whatever. You gotta focus on your – you know.” He waves his hands vaguely in front of him, a sort of all-encompassing circular motion. 
> 
> “Right,” Peter agrees. Anything to move on. 
> 
> “I’m just trying to say you can be smart and still get girls,” Kraz concludes. 
> 
> “Got it.” Peter flips to his long-neglected next index card. “Maybe we could start with – ” 
> 
> Another thought appears to flit across Kraz’ mind. “And being smart isn’t all about school, you know. Look at Elon Musk. Have you heard of Elon Musk?” 
> 
> “I’ve heard of Elon Musk,” Peter assures him. 
> 
> “He’s a personal hero of mine. Did you know he actually dropped out of Harvard to found his own company? They’re gonna make space cars.” 
> 
> Peter frowns. “I think you might be confusing him with Bill Gates?” 
> 
> Kraz smiles condescendingly. “You’ve got a lot to learn. Like, why even focus on school, when you could makes space cars? Imagine taking a girl on a date and being like, oh we should cruise up to Jupiter. Catch the, you know, the Saturn laser light show.” 
> 
> Peter closes his eyes briefly. Counts to ten inside his head. 
> 
> “I was talking about all of this with a buddy at mine at Burning Man – I used to go every year, you know, before it got lame. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but we were doing _a lot_ of drugs and I just – ” 
> 
> Peter half turns in his chair to face the camera. “Hey, let’s go ahead and cut here?” 

 

 

Like I said. And my current relationship with Sam is important. Sam has good instincts for who to trust, and about what material is going to resonate with audiences. I need him as a friend and as a colleague for this documentary. 

 

 

> `INT. – HANOVER HIGH SCHOOL – TV STUDIO ROOM – DAY  
>  Sam is seated in front of the computer, reviewing footage in his usual reasonable, informed, and realistic way. Peter stands next to him. The expression on Peter’s face is one of confusion. Specifically, the confusion of a someone who has been listening to Kraz so long they can no longer decipher any meaning in the universe whatsoever.`
> 
>  
> 
> Sam frowns at the screen. He pulls the headphones off. “This is bullshit. We can’t use any of this.”

 

 

See? 

 

 

> `EXT. – HANOVER HIGH SCHOOL – PARKING LOT – DAY  
>  Sam and Peter stand in foreground, crouched against the corner of the gym, watching Ms. Shapiro, who can be seen in the background finding the auto repair receipt on her car. Sam looks like a person who knows, accurately, that he is about to die. The look on Peter’s face says he hasn’t recognized this fact yet. `
> 
> `Peter’s expression hints at the fact that he’s doing that weird tunnel vision thing he does, where a fucking meteor could fall on the school and he wouldn’t notice, because right now the only thing that matters is how Ms. Shapiro reacts to finding a fucking auto repair receipt – and that this action gets captured on camera. You know, you’d think that kind of tunnel vision would make him a shitty investigator, and it is, to be clear, frequently wildly annoying, but he is thorough, I’ll give him that. And I guess you don’t miss much if you’re sequentially, meticulously investigating every single goddamn little thing, no matter how fucking ridiculous it is.`
> 
> `That’s just a hint, though. That’s just the tone that creeps in around the edges of his expression. Mostly, Peter just looks pissed. Because Peter has been assuming that once Ms. Shapiro realizes he is on a righteous quest for truth, that everything will be fine. Peter’s expression is that of a person who assumes all people want to be their best selves at all times, and that he is someone who can’t imagine wanting to cheat, or to do anything other than put 100% effort forward.`
> 
> `Sam is tucked out of sight, but Peter’s only making the barest pretense at hiding, because Peter Maldonado is the only motherfucker who could pull this off and still come out of it not only expecting not to get in trouble, but that the world is going to recognize the validity of his quest. It’s stupid, but it’s an admirable kind of stupid. Sometimes Peter’s okay like that.`
> 
>  
> 
> Sam says, “I’m totally gonna fail Spanish.” 
> 
> Peter waves this off. “It’ll be fine.” 
> 
> Sam lets his head fall back against the building with a clunk. “I’m gonna fail Spanish. That’s gonna crater my GPA, and then I’m not get into college. And then my life will be over. I can’t believe I let you ruin my life over something Kraz said.” 
> 
> Peter looks at him, but just for a second before re-focusing on Shapiro. “I think you’re being melodramatic.” 
> 
> “God. I’ve seen your films. You have _no_ grounds to call anyone else melodramatic – ” 
> 
> “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Peter pulls back against the wall. 
> 
> “What?” 
> 
> “I think she spotted us.” 
> 
> For a beat, they just stare at each other. Then Sam says, “Run!” 
> 
> They don’t stop until they hit the park three blocks away. Which, embarrassingly, is enough to leave Peter winded. He drops onto one of the cement picnic tables, and slumps forward, letting his elbows rest on his knees. 
> 
> Sam stands in front of him, hands on hips, looking like he isn’t sure they’ve run far enough, like Shapiro might pop out of the bushes at any second. 
> 
> “Relax,” Peter tells him. 
> 
> “Pot, kettle,” Sam answers, but he drops down onto the bench next to Peter. 
> 
> The coolness of the cement seeps into Peter through his clothes. He and Sam stay quiet while they catch their breath. Peter can hear Sam’s breathing growing more even, and he can smell Old Spice and sweat and nerves. 
> 
> But even with the cold bite of cement underneath him, a bright realization is rising Peter’s chest. They did it. They really found something. Something important. No way does Shapiro react like that, unless what they found was important. Peter finds himself grinning. 
> 
> Sam looks at him and does a double-take. “You idiot.” He elbows Peter in ribs. 
> 
> Peter shoves him back. “Get off me. You smell.” 
> 
> Sam elbows him again, and stays close enough to Peter’s side this time that his leg is a shock of heat that contrasts the cool cement. He’s close enough that Peter can feel it in his own chest when Sam laughs. 
> 
> Sam’s laughter trails off on almost rueful note. “I cannot fucking believe you, Peter Maldonado,” Sam says. “I cannot fucking believe the shit I let you drag me into.” 
> 
> But when Peter looks over, Sam’s smiling.

 

 

So. Yeah. 

Boundaries are Important. And Sam is my running buddy. My partner in crime. My back up. And maybe most importantly at the moment, my creative colleague. He’s steered this doc back on track so many times when I veered off in the wrong direction, and I don’t think I’d be brave enough to do half the stuff we’ve pulled off if he wasn’t here to back me up. So, even though it pains my ego to admit this, my film work is way better when he’s there to prod me into being my best. Sam’s help is probably why this doc is any good – and why anybody at all is watching it. 

Things just go better when Sam’s around. 

I don’t think that’s something you can take for granted. I think if you do find somebody you work well with, and who pushes you like that, it’s really valuable. And that’s why I’d have to be crazy to want to blur those boundaries and mess up how well we work together. I mean that should be obvious. Right? 

 

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay  
2\. History  
3\. Don’t Want to Fuck Up the Existing Relationship  
4\. Sam Ecklund: Also Not Gay 

 

 

> `INT. – HANOVER HIGH SCHOOL – TV STUDIO ROOM – DAY  
>  Sam sits at a desk, watching the last few moments of the inane segment that Peter, who can go fuck himself, composed of why Sam might have drawn the dicks. Peter, in wild contrast to the previous scene and demonstrating the profound duality of man, is watching Sam with the expression of a complete and utter jackass, which he is.`
> 
>  
> 
> Sam stands abruptly. “Fuck you, Peter. Fuck you.” 
> 
> He’s already heading for the door before Peter quite realizes what’s happening, and before Peter can call out after him, Sam is gone. He slams the door behind him – or he would have, if the classroom door didn’t have those self-closing safety hinges that don’t let doors slam. His point seems adequately made, however. 
> 
> Peter sits for a moment in silence, until Randall says, “Was that the reaction you were going for? Because if so: very effective.” 
> 
> Peter startles. “What? Sorry. I forgot you were there.” 
> 
> Randall lowers the camera and shrugs amiably, as though it’s all the same to him. “That just means I’m doing my job well.” He powers the camera down, pops out the memory card and hands it to Peter. “Here. You should probably just delete all this.” 
> 
> Peter turns the chip over. Part of him would be happy to never re-live this moment ever again. But a small, dark part of him is also thinking that footage would make a hell of an episode teaser. Maybe Sam is right. Maybe Peter is an asshole. “You think?” 
> 
> Randall shoots him a dark look. 
> 
> Peter’s still holding the card. Still waffling. “I was just making the best argument I could think of to make.” 
> 
> Randall gives him another look, sadder this time. 
> 
> “And I gave him the opportunity to get back at me.” Peter’s voice is rising into pre-teen ranges of defensiveness. “I was trying to be fair.” 
> 
> Randall’s look is now so mournful he might as well be re-living the cancelation of _Mythbusters_ , an event for which he dressed in black for a solid week. 
> 
> Peter tries again. “Sam was acting like I was being crazy. Is it really so crazy to think he has a crush on Gabi? He’s, like, obsessed over her for years.” 
> 
> Randall narrows his eyes; his eyebrows drawing together in fuzzy, orange judgment. 
> 
> “It’s all right there,” Peter says, gesturing insistently at the laptop, the closing shot of the segment still frozen on the screen. “He always wants to look good in the selfies he sends her. He gets jealous when she spends time with other people. He _hates_ Brandon. And he’d probably do anything Gabi asked. If Gabi said he looked cool in, like, I don’t know, JNCO jeans, he’d wear them every day for the rest of the year and not care that everyone else thought he was an idiot.” 
> 
> Randall folds his hands together and leans forward with an earnest, concerned expression. “He literally agreed to help you make a documentary about dicks. Do you have any idea what a social risk that was?” 
> 
> “I don’t see how that’s related.” 
> 
> “Uh huh.” Randall sits back. 
> 
> “I mean, I get why. Gabi’s super smart, and really nice, and hot.” Peter pauses. The last thing he needs is for it to get back to Sam that he thinks Gabi is hot. “I mean, like, everyone thinks she’s hot. It’s a general consensus. She’s dating a hot guy.” Peter is rambling. “I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.” He tries to make that last bit sound sarcastic. 
> 
> Randall’s expression says Peter sounds more genuinely confused about how attractiveness works than sarcastic. He’s frowning again, in his gentle, disappointed way. “Yeah, but general consensus is that Van Delorey is also super hot, and he’s a dick. People being hot doesn’t mean you have to like them. Even being hot and smart and nice doesn’t mean automatic crush. Besides, this isn’t about whether it’s crazy for Sam have a crush on Gabi. This is about whether you’re crazy for suggesting he would spray paint twenty-seven dicks on twenty-seven faculty-owned cars with the only the vague hope of getting prom canceled.” 
> 
> Peter’s mouth clicks shut. He stays quiet for a moment, breathing through the tightness in his chest. One hand fumbles absently, automatically for his inhaler, but there’s no urgency to the gesture. He knows asthma’s got nothing to do with the way he feels right now. “What do you think? Was I wrong to even bring it up?” 
> 
> Randall reaches out and pats him on the head, in the way you would a beloved, but particularly dense, child. “You should talk to Sam about that. And probably apologize, because I hate it when you guys fight.” 
> 
> Peter swallows. “Sorry for dragging you into it.” 
> 
> Randall says, “It’s not so much like mom and dad fighting as it is one of those videos on YouTube of, like, really territorial chipmunks getting into it.” 
> 
> “Thanks, Randall.” 
> 
> “Or like pissed off hummingbirds.” 
> 
> “Okay.” 
> 
> “Or like that video of the kitten slap fight.” 
> 
> “I get it.” 
> 
> “Oh, or like bunnies. Angry, _angry_ bunnies.” 
> 
> “That’s enough, Randall.”

 

 

I guess I should have seen it coming. But just like the school board was so sure that Dylan Maxwell drew the dicks, and how Ms. Shapiro is so sure she knew exactly what kind of person Dylan is – I was certain I was doing the right thing by making the best possible case I could against Sam for the purpose of the documentary. 

I was also certain I knew all the risks that making this doc about people I knew held. I thought about what it would mean to piss off Mr. Keene, Ms. Shapiro, and the other teachers at Hanover High. I thought about how my assumptions and opinions about Dylan going into were going to affect the work I produced. 

But I didn’t think about how this documentary might piss off my friends. I definitely didn’t think it was going to lead to Sam being this pissed off at me. So maybe Randall is right: maybe I should scratch the whole bit about Why It Could Have Been Me, and Why It Could Have Been Sam. But, there’s still part of me that can’t help but think I should keep this stuff in the doc. And, it’s not because I think Sam might have actually drawn the dicks. The cancelled-prom theory was a stretch to begin with, and it gets stupider the longer I think about it. But here’s the thing: starting with a suspect list of people who had access to the security tape _was_ a good idea. So if I’m going to look at everyone else, don’t I have to look at myself? 

Don’t I have to look at Sam? 

Maybe I’m being an idiot. I get that it wasn’t a great thing to do, but I still think Sam’s making a bigger deal out of all this than it needs to be: people get crushes. Gabi is hot. I don’t think there’s a guy at Hanover who wouldn’t get it. At this point, I’m not sure if the segments are going to make the final cut or not, but at the very least, even if this line of inquiry doesn’t prove useful for figuring out who drew the dicks, demonstrating Sam’s crush on Gabi – and Sam freaking out over the fact that I told everyone he has a crush on Gabi can at least be the fourth, and most solid argument for why we are definitely, _definitely_ not gay for each other. Because I think this shows pretty clearly that Sam Ecklund is Not Gay. 

Of course, this argument wasn’t exactly convincing to everyone. 

 

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay  
2\. History  
3\. Don’t Want to Fuck Up the Existing Relationship  
~~4\. Sam Eklund: Also Not Gay~~

 

 

> `INT. THE HOME OF LUCAS WILEY - DEN – DAY  
>  Sam is not in this scene, but we can assume he is at home, and that if he were to somehow know what was going on, that he would be wildly uncomfortable with what’s about to proceed, and would be comforted only by the fact that there’s no goddamn way his future self would allow this scene to make the final cut. Now, Certain People might make arguments about _honesty_ and _telling the whole story_ , but Sam, if anyone bothered to ask, might remind Certain People about the importance of scene selection. And how what’s left out can be equally important as what’s in. How those spaces tell you something, if you know how to read between the lines. Because sometimes there are things you can’t come out and say, or alternatively, that there are things that lose their meaning and depth when they’re just stated baldly. Not that any of the idiots in this scene would appreciate that.`
> 
> ``
> 
> ` This scene does say one thing quite clearly, however, which is that Peter Maldonado needs to fucking grow a pair.`
> 
>  
> 
> A sheaf of dicks and vaginas, on all different types of paper are strewn across the table. Squinting a bit through the cloud of weed smoke that hangs in the air between them, Peter watches as Dylan slices and folds one of the vaginas. 
> 
> Dylan holds it up, bending the edges of the paper to make the lips gape. “Hey P, can we shoot the rest of the doc with puppets?” 
> 
> There’s giggling from the rest of the Wayback crew, but Peter’s learned not to rise to Dylan’s bait. 
> 
> Ganj cackles to herself. Lucas is muttering sweet nothings to the bong, who Peter has gathered, is named Nancy. And Spencer, as he has been for the last several minutes, is talking about Tide pods. “We should do Tide pods.” 
> 
> Dylan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Man, I keep telling you Tide pods are played out. Everybody’s done a Tide pod video. If we do a Tide pod video now, it just looks dumb and like we haven’t been paying attention. I mean, Peter, you wouldn’t eat a Tide pod now, right?” 
> 
> Peter clears his throat. The smoke is getting to him, and he feels slightly light-headed. “I wouldn’t eat a Tide pod ever.” 
> 
> “Okay,” Dylan says, “bad example.” 
> 
> Spencer slumps deeper into the embrace of the couch. His face is scrunched in deep thought. “We could give Tide pods to babies?” 
> 
> This appears more intriguing to Dylan. “Maybe,” he muses, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 
> 
> “What if we pretend to eat one in the park and then act like we’re dying?” 
> 
> Dylan considers it, but then he shakes his head. “You’re way too shitty a actor to pull that off.” 
> 
> “You’re a shittier actor than me.” Spencer scratches his chin and the sparse collection of hairs growing there. “We need better actors.” 
> 
> The bong has migrated to Ganj, who looks up from it with a glassy expression. “Where’s your little actor friend?” 
> 
> It takes Peter a second to realize she’s talking to him. “Uh, do you mean Sam? He’s not really talking to me at the moment.” 
> 
> There’s a collective _ooooh_ sound of impending gossip. Ganj puts the bong down and sits up. “Why not?” 
> 
> Peter really does not want to get into this. Especially not with the Wayback boys. Especially when he still hasn’t gotten Dylan to talk about what went down at Nana’s party. But they’re all staring at him. “I – I wanted to include segments in the doc about why any member of the Morning Show could have done the dicks. But the best motive I could come up with for Sam drawing the dicks was that he wanted to get prom canceled because he has a crush on Gabi and hates her boyfriend so much.” 
> 
> Ganj snorts. “Okay, one, that’s dumb. And B, that kid doesn’t have a crush on Gabi Granger. That kid is gay as heck.” 
> 
> Peter looks up and sighs loudly at the ceiling. “Sam’s not gay.” 
> 
> “Damn, P. Back at it again with the Not Gay bullshit.” Dylan reaches out to jostle Peter’s shoulder. 
> 
> Peter twists out of reach. “He’s not. Why would he care so much about the segment on his crush on Gabi if he’s gay?” 
> 
> Ganj says, “Maybe because it’s a dumb fucking segment.” There are general nods of agreement from around the room. Everybody’s a critic. 
> 
> Dylan sits up straight and gives Peter his best, I’m-Being-Serious face, spoiled only slightly by his bloodshot eyes. “Dude, you gotta relax and face facts. Nobody, and I mean nobody, does that much musical theater and is straight.” 
> 
> Ganj nods. “You gotta stop being so fucking judgy.” 
> 
> Peter looks back and forth between them. “I’m being judgy? You’re the ones saying he’s gay just because he does theater.” 
> 
> “You’re saying he’s not gay just because he’s in theater so isn’t that, like, the same amount of assumptions?” Dylan counters. 
> 
> “That’s – ” Peter’s mouth is open but there’s nothing coming out. “What?” 
> 
> “Also,” Ganj exhales a cloud of smoke in a breath that lasts far longer than Peter would have previously thought possible. “He’s got grindr on his phone, yo.” 
> 
> Peter stares at her. “Did you steal Sam’s phone?” 
> 
> She’s sleepy looking and red-eyed, but the slow grin that spreads across her face is sly as fuck. “No, and I have no fucking idea what he has on it, but you just told me you’d believe it if he did.” 

 

 

Okay, full disclosure: I’ve actually thought Sam might be gay for awhile. There’s not one big thing, or one big reason why; there are just a lot of little might-be’s and maybe’s. But those stack up. Plus, there’s only so excited a person can get about Shawn Mendes and Jonathan Groff before their friends start to, you know, think something might be up. 

So, I know you’re thinking: then why make such a big thing out of him liking Gabi? Well, first, I still think he might like Gabi. Like I said, I’m not _sure_ he’s gay, I’ve just thought, on occasion, that he might be. And also, there’s a difference between thinking someone is gay, and thinking that that person knows that they’re gay. 

Finally, I guess I just didn’t want to think about it. Not that I’d have a problem with Sam being gay. That would be totally fine. Just, I don’t know. I like our friendship the way it is; I like where we are. I think I just didn’t want to think about it in a change-is-bad-and-scary kind of way. Not a homophobic kind of way. Wow, I’m coming off like an asshole. I swear I’m not trying to be. I should probably shut this down. 

But I’m also not crazy about the idea that Sam is keeping a secret from me. Which is how conversations like the one I had with the Wayback boys made me feel. But conversations like that one also made me think about why Sam, if he is gay, might be uncomfortable being out. Oceanside is kind of a weird place about stuff like that. It’s southern California – but it’s also a military town, which tends to skew everything conservative. And Sam’s family is a military family. His dad was a Marine, and still does contracting work at Pendleton. His mom was a Marine. Both of his older brothers are in the Marines. (I was going to include something from one of his brother’s insta here as illustration about how Sam is the odd one out, but it’s all like 90% vaguely racist memes and Post Malone lyrics, which: No). 

Sam is – not that. If you didn’t already know, you might never guess Sam comes from such a heavy military background. He occasionally lets something slip, like he’ll call a hat his “cover” or whatever, but mostly he doesn’t talk about it. He says it’s not that important, and that because both his parents had retired from active service by the time he was born, that it doesn’t really impact his life. 

I'm not trying to say there's something inherently homophobic about the military or the people in it, but sometimes I think Sam is working too hard to distinguish himself as Different from his upbringing. Like, if he's different in enough ways and loud enough about it, he thinks no one will look too closely at the specifics? I used to think Sam defining himself so adamantly as Not Like That was just general run of the mill rebellion and identity searching. Sometimes, it feels like everyone in high school is looking for their “Thing.” Sam is loud, expressive, dramatic, and hilarious. Everyone knows him. Everyone likes him, even the seniors. In his work for the Morning Show, he can always get a great quote out of someone. And half the interviews we got for the doc, back before anyone wanted to participate, came around because Sam was like “Oh, I know her through choir” or, “Oh I know him from tech.” 

But, I’ve started wondering how many people really know Sam. Is he so attached to Gabi because he doesn’t have that many close friends? Is this big, vibrant personality covering up other stuff he doesn’t want people to notice? 

And am I an asshole for not thinking about all this before? 

 

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay  
2\. History  
~~3\. Don’t Want to Fuck Up the Existing Relationship~~  
~~4\. Sam Eklund: Also Not Gay~~

 

 

> `INT. – THE HOME OF PETER MALDONADO – BEDROOM – MORNING`  
>  `Peter stands alone in front of his bedroom mirror, dressed for school. That’s it. That’s the scene.`
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey. I just wanted to say that it was shitty of me, when the other day, I – ” Peter stops. 
> 
> “Hey, the other day when I showed you that segment about why you have a crush on Gabi, I mean, not that you necessarily have a crush on Gabi, just that.” He stops again. 
> 
> “Hey Sam. Thanks for agreeing to meet me to talk about the doc. Just real fast, I wanted to say – ” 
> 
> “Hey. Good morning. How’s it going? Listen, I know you disagree with the decision I made about the doc. I just think it’s important that – look, maybe it was a bad idea to. And I get that your feelings were hurt, but – ” 
> 
> “Hey Sam, I’m sorry. I’m just – sorry.” 
> 
> Peter picks up his backpack. He heads downstairs. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> `INT. – HANOVER HIGH SCHOOL – TV STUDIO ROOM – DAY  
>  Sam sits at the AV editing computer, having just finished reviewing Peter’s gathered footage of Nana’s party. He looks intrigued. Peter stands nearby, arms folded over his chest, watching Sam watch the tape. It’s clear on his face how much this can of spray paint means to him, and how much he wants it to mean something to Sam. And this – this right here – this is why no one has ever successfully stayed mad at Peter. He takes fucking everything to heart. Nerd.`
> 
>  
> 
> Sam sits back from the computer and looks up at Peter. “This is great. I can interview Brandon later today.” 
> 
> Peter’s relief gets tinged with an edge of worry. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 
> 
> Sam looks him dead in the eye. “Yes.” 
> 
> “Okay, okay. Just – hey, while you’re here. I wanted to say, I think it should be your call about whether we include the Why Sam Ecklund Might Have Done It segment.” Peter’s hands twist together in front of him. 
> 
> Sam studies him. “Wait, really?” 
> 
> “Yeah.” 
> 
> Sam looks outright skeptical now. “You’re not going to be pissed if I say cut it?” 
> 
> Peter swallows. “If you say cut it, we’ll cut it.” 
> 
> “Just like that?” Sam asks. 
> 
> “Just like that.” 
> 
> Sam is still watching him closely. “What happened to journalistic integrity and all that?” 
> 
> Peter shrugs. His hands are still twisting together in front of him, and he makes an effort to still them. “This is more important.” 
> 
> Sam sits in silence for a moment, then, in a thoughtful tone, he says, “Leave it in.” 
> 
> “Really?” 
> 
> “Yeah.” 
> 
> Peter smiles, just a little bit. Sometimes people surprise you in all the best ways. 
> 
> “But make sure you leave that part about you jerking off to American Apparel in, too.”

 

 

So that’s Part One of the point I want to make… 

 

 

> `EXT. – HANOVER HIGH SCHOOL – STUDENT PARKING LOT – EVENING  
>  Gabi and Sam are speaking next to her car. Peter is holding an actively filming camera, and – there’s no getting around the fact that Sam looks like a dick in this scene. Sam was a dick in this scene. But, just for the record, Brandon Galloway is a dick. Like, a full-time, thoughtless, self-centered, wildly lame dick. And, ~~I’m~~ Sam’s not saying that because he has a crush on Gabi. He doesn’t. He’s saying that because he’s Gabi’s friend, and he is always going to think that she deserves the sun, the moon, and the stars. Also, Sam looks like an asshole here, but Peter – Peter thinks about her feelings. I’m not ever gonna get over that.`
> 
>  
> 
> Sam holds the iPad loosely, triumphantly – right up until the moment Gabi snatches it out of his hands. 
> 
> She reads through the conversation. “Fuck you, Sam. Fuck you both. Find your own ride home.” She shoves the iPad towards him and without another word climbs into her car. 
> 
> Sam frowns after her. “Is she serious?” 
> 
> The whole conversation felt like it lasted a million years, and also somehow like it flew by too fast for Peter to do anything – to say anything. Although, he’s not even sure what he could say that wouldn’t make it somehow worse. “Why would you make a joke like that? That’s so mean, dude.” 
> 
> “Shut up.” The disbelief is starting to fade from Sam’s face. He just looks lost. 
> 
> They both spend a long, silent moment watching the light from Gabi’s taillights grow smaller, then disappear. 
> 
> “Stop filming,” Sam says. His voice is uneven. 
> 
> Peter doesn’t argue. He stops filming. He gets his phone out instead. 
> 
> Sam glances at him, then does a double-take, like he’s not sure he trusts that Peter isn’t still trying to record or something. “What are you doing?” 
> 
> “What do you think I’m doing?” Peter holds the phone to his ear. “I’m calling my mom to see if she can come get us.” 
> 
> Sam looks away. 
> 
> When his mom picks up, Peter says, “Hey, we were supposed to get a ride home from Gabi today, but – ” 
> 
> Peter can feel Sam looking at him. “But I forgot to ask her, and she already left. Is there any way you could come pick me and Sam up?” 
> 
> Even in the sallow glow of the parking lot lights, Peter can tell Sam’s face is flushed. Sam spends the ride home silent, looking determinedly out the window of Peter’s mom’s car. 
> 
> Peter spends the ride pretending he can’t see the way Sam’s working not to cry in the reflection of his face in the glass.

 

 

...and that’s Part Two. 

So the way I see it, here’s how those two things go together: 

Sam and I fought, but we came out of it okay. I know he was mad I dug into his personal feelings and planned to air them to the entire school, and also, like, the shockingly large number of people watching who don’t go to Hanover. But, I also think he was mad because I made that decision unilaterally. I should have talked to him beforehand about what I wanted to do. I keep calling him my collaborator and creative colleague, but I haven’t exactly been good about backing that up by actually sharing creative control. But when I asked – instead of announcing – Sam agreed to leave the segment about him and Gabi in. Admittedly, he said it was because all the other options I came up with were “atrociously worse,” but I’ll take it. 

Sam and Gabi fought, and – I’m not going to lie, it was pretty bad. It was a really shitty thing for Sam to throw Sarah’s messages in Gabi’s face like that. I have faith that they’ll work things out, but it’s definitely gonna take some groveling on Sam’s part. 

The broader point I’m trying to make is that I thought I had a really good grasp of the boundaries of my relationship with Sam, but in reality, I wasn’t respecting them. And, that Sam and Gabi aren’t dating (and I’m choosing to believe Sam going forward when he says he’s not interested in dating her), but even without changing the boundaries of their relationship, he still managed to fuck up their friendship. 

I’ve gone back in forth in my head so many times about Dylan’s guilt. Gone back and forth about whether this doc is even good idea, or destined to be a complete failure. Now, I’m starting to rethink those impenetrable lines I wanted to draw around people’s relationships. Boundaries are important, but respecting them doesn’t automatically mean bliss, and sometimes what you announce to yourself as the boundaries of a given relationship aren’t the actual reality you’re living. I’m also realizing that there’s not some magical transformation that happens when a relationship turns from platonic to romantic. It’s not like you can’t hurt someone when you’re in a platonic relationship, but suddenly can when you start dating. And how bottom line is that everyone needs to be treated with kindness. 

I feel like I’m supposed to be presenting myself as an authority for the purposes of this doc, but here specifically I’m – not. I would be lying if I said I had any first hand knowledge of what romantic relationships are like. Unless you count exchanging ring pops on the playground in kindergarten, I’ve never had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, for that matter. So what do I know? I’d also be lying if I said thinking about – you know, like, all of that – doesn’t leave me feeling vaguely terrified. Or at least deeply, deeply nervous. I hate not knowing what I’m doing. I hate feeling out of my depth. It makes me feel like I’m about to fuck up. And I hate fucking up. I hate making mistakes. I guess I’m kind of a perfectionist, or, as Sam would say, “uptight, picky af, and pretentious as all hell.” 

But this doc has taught me that people do mess up. Everyone. Not just the people you expect it from. People see Dylan as this burnout loser, but I’m more and more certain he didn’t mess up in the way everyone thinks he did. The school board rushed to judgment. Ms. Shapiro straight up _lied._ But making mistakes also makes people stronger. Failing means you’re pushing yourself. This documentary is better than anything I’ve ever made before, maybe in part because I’m way out of my comfort zone. And probably because Sam pushed me, as well. Boundaries are there to be tested. You come away knowing more about how strong you are, and what those boundaries actually mean. 

And it’s all knowledge you wouldn’t have had, if you hadn’t pushed. 

 

* * *

 

1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay  
~~2\. History~~  
~~3\. Don’t Want to Fuck Up the Existing Relationship~~  
~~4\. Sam Eklund: Also Not Gay~~

 

 

> `EXT. THE HOME OF LUCAS WILEY - BACKYARD – A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT`  
>  `Rain pours from the sky. After Lucas won’t let him in, Peter storms into the Wiley backyard, Sam close at his heels.`
> 
>  
> 
> “Why go back?” Sam’s voice is long past reasonable, and well into frustrated territory. “Peter, this is ridiculous. Peter. _Peter_.” 
> 
> Peter clenches his jaw so hard it hurts. “I want him to know it’s over.” 
> 
> Peter’s moving fast now, but Sam stays with him. “You can’t keep asking the same question, expecting a different response.” 
> 
> “It _is_ different this time.” Not that he has anything concrete to back up that assertion, but Peter is past the point of logic. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest. It’s raining, but he doesn’t notice the wetness. His skin feels hot and too tight. “It just is.” 
> 
> When he turns the corner and sees Dylan, he starts yelling on sight. “How could you lie to me? I know you’re lying to me!” 
> 
> Dylan yells back, voice only partially muffled by the glass between them. “I’m not lying, you asshole!” 
> 
> “You’re just going to keep lying to me? I said the word dick to teachers for you. And _I’m_ an asshole?” Peter jabs a finger into the glass, which refuses to give. 
> 
> Sam grabs at his arm. “Peter, come on. Let’s just go.” 
> 
> Peter’s too mad to go. He’s too mad and scared and furious to go. Dylan makes a taunting face at him through the glass. “Fuck you, Dylan!” 
> 
> “This isn’t helping.” Sam tugs harder this time. He’s closer to Peter now, like he’s trying to step in front of him, trying to force himself into Peter’s line of sight. “We can figure this out. You and me. We’ll figure out how to prove it. We can prove he’s lying, but not by screaming in Lucas Wiley’s backyard until his neighbors call the cops.” 
> 
> Peter takes one breath. Then two. He can still feel the adrenaline crawling under his skin. 
> 
> “We’ve gone through too much for you to lose your shit now,” Sam says. “We have other options.” 
> 
> The rain is still coming down hard, and Peter is starting to feel its chill. He feels the water running down the back of his neck, soaking his collar. He works to get his breathing under control. He still wants to yell. Or collapse in the mud. Or throw something, and shatter the glass door and then maybe scream more. But Sam’s right: none of that would help. Peter breathes again. He closes his eyes. “Is the camera okay?” 
> 
> Sam watches him for a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah. It’s fine.” 
> 
> “Thanks.” 
> 
> “Of course.” Sam is still holding onto Peter’s arm. And Peter looks at him, looks at him standing there, his hair flattened and rain running down his face. He looks bedraggled and wide-eyed, and concerned. Not so much for the camera, which he is holding closely to his chest, absently sheltering it from the rain, but for Peter. He’s here for Peter. Like he has been so many times. Like he always is. In Peter’s shaky moments. In his shitty moments. In his triumphant moments, and all the ones in between. 
> 
> A lump is forming in Peter’s throat. “Let’s go home. Come on, I want to go home.”

 

 

Everyone talks about revisionist history like it’s a bad thing, but usually people speak positively about hindsight. So what’s the difference, and where’s the line? 

If I acknowledge that Sam might be gay, and that not just our friendship, but all relationships are more fluid, fragile, and hopefully resilient than I ever realized, then I have to think about our history in a whole new light. Not – I’m not, like, retrospectively panicking about the fact that Sam’s seen me with my shirt off or anything lame like that. I just think, if Sam is gay, and we have been as close as we have been, and if relationships evolve then why _hasn’t_ ours? 

Yesterday, I was standing in my room, pulling on my hoodie – and I thought: I wonder if Sam likes this hoodie. I wonder if Sam _doesn’t_ like this hoodie. Maybe this hoodie is the reason that Sam hasn’t ever asked me out. I get how ridiculous that sounds. And, trust me, I get how ridiculous it is that I’ve gone from trying to prove why Sam aren’t gay for each other to wondering why we aren’t. 

But I also keep thinking about all those moments I held up as proof that Sam and I weren’t anything romantic – talking about my dad with Sam, fake make-outs with Sam, learning to dance with Sam – and I realized that even though nothing happened, those were all moments where I felt really vulnerable. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking anyone else for help with making _Inside the Mind of Killer._ I don’t feel comfortable talking about my dad with anybody besides Sam. Those moments – where you show the really soft, fragile pieces of yourself to somebody – it’s Sam I trust to be with me in those moments. 

You know, when you’re making a film, you can change everything by changing the light. You can make day night. You can make a sunny day ominous. You can make a scene somber or stark or joyous or confusing. And you can bring to the forefront colors and details that otherwise the audience might never see. History doesn’t change. The past is set. But the way history looks, and what it means in the present, depends entirely on the light you’re looking back with. 

And it turns out there are all sorts of different kinds of light, if you know how to look. 

 

* * *

 

~~1\. Peter Maldonado: Not Gay~~  
~~2\. History~~  
~~3\. Don’t Want to Fuck Up the Existing Relationship~~  
~~4\. Sam Eklund: Also Not Gay~~

 

 

Here’s the thing about self-knowledge: it’s never as complete as you want it to be. 

I started this line of side questioning because I was trying to prove to Dylan that Sam and I weren’t gay for each other. Or, maybe I was trying to prove to myself that we weren’t, and Dylan was just a convenient excuse. 

But maybe I need to take a step back. Throughout this whole project, I’ve watched people’s perceptions of who Dylan is change wildly. He was a complete loser. Then he was a hero, and now that everything is basically over, I hope people realize that he’s not either of those things. He is, just like all of us, somewhere in between. 

Personally, my perceptions of Dylan aren’t the only things that have evolved. I’m never gonna look at Mackenzie the same way again. This doc definitely changed the way I think about Christa. But beyond specific individuals, it changed the way I see people in general. It made me think about how we see each other, about the faces we all show to the world, and what’s going on beneath the surface. 

Which brings us back to this little side project. I set out to prove that Sam and I weren’t gay for each other because Sam wasn’t gay (except for how I think maybe he is), because getting romantic would fuck up our friendship (except for how friendships get fucked up for all kinds of other reasons, and the good ones bounce back), simply because we hadn’t already done so in the past (but if all history ever did was repeat, wouldn’t Dylan have been the real dick culprit? Would the class president really have orchestrated the drawing of dicks?), and because I, Peter Maldonado, am not gay. 

Well. Self knowledge is never perfect, but I have picked up a few things about myself and the world at large: 

1\. Even if you go back and look at where I was trying to argue my own straightness, there’s not any actual proof of straightness. There’s just me asking you to take my word for it, which is like the exact opposite of what a true crime documentarian is supposed to do, as well as some serious deflecting to academia, which is, I will admit, a patented Peter Maldonado Go-To move. 

2\. Sam informs me that Bisexual Erasure is a Thing, and that I am committing it. 

And: 

3\. Does anybody who’s straight really spend this much time agonizing over it? 

 

 

> `INT. HOUSE PARTY AT AN UNSPECIFIED HOME – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT`  
>  `Sam sits on a couch while party-goers swirl around him, present but unacknowledged. Peter, the night’s official Most Improved Flip Cup Player slumps against his shoulder.`
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m glad you and Gabi made up.” Peter sounds drowsy, even to himself. He feels good, though. Warm. Sam’s shoulder is an admirable pillow. 
> 
> Sam pats his knee. “I think she just took pity on me.” 
> 
> “You guys are good, good friends, though. And that’s – good.” Peter nods against Sam’s shoulder. 
> 
> He feels Sam laugh. “Yeah, well, I still think you’ve got a lot of nerve interrogating other people’s crushes, when you’ve gone a hard-on for Gerard Butler you won’t even acknowledge.” 
> 
> “Gerard Butler is a cinematic luminary.” Peter closes his eyes. “Besides, he’s not who I have a crush on.” 
> 
> He feels Sam go perfectly still underneath him. 
> 
> Peter swallows. “I’m so glad you did this documentary with me. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” 
> 
> Sam laughs again; Peter feels it as a small, sharp motion of his chest. “Please, this was your baby. You still would have done it without me.” 
> 
> “Well. Yeah,” Peter admits. He lifts his head in time to see Sam roll his eyes. “But, it wouldn’t have been as much fun… and it wouldn’t have been as good.” 
> 
> Sam looks at him sidelong, like he’s trying to tell if Peter is blowing smoke. He finally smiles. “Thanks. I’m not bad for a sidekick, I guess.” 
> 
> “You’re not a sidekick,” Peter says. 
> 
> “Then what I am I?” 
> 
> “You’re more like my partner.” Peter swallows again, hard work given the lump in his throat. “And – ” 
> 
> Sam is so close, and Peter is warm and cold and too hot all at once. Sam peers down at him. “And what?” 
> 
> Peter’s heart is beating too fast for anything coherent to come out of his mouth. His tongue feel too thick and his throat too dry. He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with Sam’s. He drops his head back onto Sam’s shoulder. “And I like you.” 
> 
> It is not his most eloquent moment. Peter winces and waits for Sam to laugh again. He waits for the ribbing he deserves for that sixth-grade level feelings pronouncement. 
> 
> After a beat of stillness, Sam tilts his head to rest against Peter’s. His hand closes around Peter’s. He’s close enough that Peter can hear him swallow, can hear the unsteady hitch in his breathing. 
> 
> Sam does laugh then, but it’s a very small, breathy sound, produced so close to Peter’s ear that he shivers. “You know,” Sam says. “This would have been a hell of a lot easier, if you didn’t insist on cameras following you around all the time.” 
> 
> Peter can feel Sam’s thumb moving in circles over his palm, and it feels like the most important thing in the world. “No cameras right now.” 
> 
> “Nope.” 
> 
> “Just me.” Peter pulls back just far enough to look him in the eye. He feels Sam tug him closer. 
> 
> “Good,” Sam says. 
> 
> Peter kisses him. Kisses him again, as much as he dares, given that they’re in the middle of a party stuffed with people, many of whom have some pretty good motives for giving him shit. 
> 
> Sam smiles against his mouth. “You know, for a cinematic genius, you can be a real idiot.” 
> 
> Peter laughs. 
> 
> “How long did it take you to figure this out?” He leans in to kiss Peter again. “I’m gonna have to do so much editing to make your rambling into anything coherent.” 
> 
> “Hey.” Peter goes for an offended tone, but he can’t manage any real heat. 
> 
> “I’m onboard,” Sam says. “Just so we’re clear. I’m in it for the long haul.” 
> 
> He is very close, and very warm against Peter’s side. And everything in front of them is an opportunity. There’s a world full of stories ahead. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> `[FADE TO BLACK]`

 

* * *

 


End file.
